


Little Gifts

by cat_77



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin believes he has found the perfect disguise, and maybe more.  Uther believes he has found a willing companion, and maybe more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt at kinkme_merlin [here](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/19042.html?thread=18857570#t18857570) of _Merlin likes to change himself into a girl and dress up, but does it away from Gaius’ prying eyes. Uther has insomnia, goes walking, and believes he has found a possible cure. Bonus points for Uther thinking it’s consensual when it really is not._

* * *

  
Merlin stared at himself in the looking glass, squinting at his reflection before smoothing out a near imperceptible wrinkle in the fabric. He paused, hands lingering on the fine silk, eventually giving in to the urge to rub it between his fingertips even though he knew he would just need to straighten it once more. A twitch and it was back in place and he busied his reluctant hands with other tasks instead.

The containers were made of finely wrought silver, the brushes of woods found far from Camelot. It had been simple enough to add the request to the usual manifest. No one questioned why the king’s ward requested four instead of three this time around, and Morgana had not known about the increased number and therefore had never suspected anything was missing.

He opened each carefully, breathing in the slightly perfumed scent. The powders were brushed delicately across his cheekbones, the paint carefully shaped to his lips. He was temped to leave off the kohl, but gave in and rimmed his eyes with fine lines the brought out the blue to match the fabric so carefully settled about his waist. It was a special occasion, after all. Four months to the day since he had first discovered not only a very special spell, but a room where he could perform it and test it to its fullest potential.

He had convinced himself at first that it was solely a protective measure; he could never be certain when he might need a disguise in his duties as Arthur’s secret protector. And what a disguise it was: his hair lengthened and curled, his body reshaped itself into subtle curves, his jaw became smooth and stubble-free, and he lost every aspect of manhood – and he did mean every – to become a somewhat dainty, somewhat gawky woman instead.

It only made sense that he found the appropriate costuming to match his new persona. He could have raided Morgana’s numerous closets and cupboards, but feared she would recognize anything should he happen across her in this form. He trawled the laundress’ bins to find something suitable, and managed something passable, but lucked out when Lady Victoria left behind a gown of silk and velvet during her last visit.

Now, as he set aside the paints and brushes and took in his new appearance, he had to admit it was possibly not strictly necessary that he was contemplating ensuring Lady Ellyn “forgot” the dark green lace and chiffon gown he had seen in her trunk when assisting Gwen with tucking things away properly. Ellyn had frowned at it and complained to her own maid that it was too dark for her complexion before she told Merlin it was not necessary to hang it with the others. He took this to mean she would likely not miss it should it disappear, but was hesitant to do something so bold.

With a sigh, he gathered his skirts and shuffled over to the window to gaze out at the courtyard. He wondered if he would ever get the opportunity to step outside dressed as he was, or if he would simply continue to “practice” forever more. In the four months’ time, he had saved Arthur’s life exactly once dressed as such. To be honest, he probably could have done so plain and openly without the deceit, but the act justified his latest hobby, and he likely would have found another excuse later if not for that one specific instance.

Perhaps it was time he admitted to himself that he continued the spell for reasons far other than disguise. He liked the change, the feel of the fine fabrics against his skin instead of his usual rough hewn tunic and trousers. The lengths of silk that caressed his body as he moved reminded him that there were better things in life. One of the few times he had dared to venture out without an emergency at hand he had been greeted with bows and smiles and helpful assistance on the treacherous stairways instead of the orders and sneers and heaps of responsibility that were his usual lot. The corset was a pain, especially to handle all by himself, but he managed it with the help of magic, and there were times he rather liked the way it hugged close to his body, held him together so he would not burst out and explode with all the secrets he held within.

The thought of the corset reminded him that he still needed to remove his, remove everything and scrub himself clean to become a simple servant once again. He let the short arms of the gown slip free and reached around to tug at the ties. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, eyes tracing down the fine lines of boning to the pool of fabric gathered at his hips.

He bit his lip and then licked the paint from his teeth as he contemplated his next actions. He still had time, this much he knew. The spell would only end when he wanted it to, not just wear off suddenly and without warning. He had only done this specific action a handful times before: once in experimentation and others as a special treat. With a shrug that made his curls bounce atop his bare shoulders, he decided he had already declared the night special, so what was one more gift to himself? His fingers traced along the boning, and then further still, seeking out the warm skin that contrasted with the cool silk.

That was, of course, when he heard the door creak open behind him.

He turned around, an excuse already on his lips, a thousand and one reasons for a supposed guest to be in a room rarely used even for visitors despite its upkeep, all of which died when he saw who stood before him.

“I am sorry, I did not... I saw a light and did not think anyone to be in this part of the castle at this hour,” Uther began, clearly looking Merlin up and down and not even bothering to blush at the state of undress. There was a pause though, as the king cocked his head to the side and asked, “Do I know you?”

Merlin shook his head and clutched the fabric to him in a mockery of modesty. “I do not believe so, sire,” he replied in the meekest voice he could manage, remembering belatedly to add a rough approximation of a curtsey at the end. He kept his eyes downcast, curls obscuring as much of his face as possible on the off chance he was recognized, even with the paint and the spell.

“Are you part of Lady Alexandra’s retinue?” Uther asked, checking to make sure the door was closed behind him. At least Merlin would not be flaunting impropriety to any random passer bys at this point.

Merlin latched on to Uther’s words like a buoy in the deepest parts of a raging river. “Y-yes, sire,” he replied in the same quiet tone.

Uther, of course, did not leave it at that. Of all things, a smile spread across his face and he took a bold step closer. “I had thought she had forgotten my dalliances of youth. It’s been years since she even hinted at remembrance. Of course, word of my late night stalking of the hallways must have reached her ears and she remembered what used to cure my insomnia better than one of Gaius’ tonics,” he murmured, more to himself than to the only other person in the room. Louder now, he asked, “Tell me, where is your maid?”

Merlin tried to think quickly and hoped his wide eyes did not betray him. “I granted her a night off,” he tried. He added a quirk of his lips, hoping it spoke of being demure and not of being an errant manservant cum sorcerer in a dress awaiting execution.

“I’m sure you did,” Uther said in a far different tone than Merlin had ever heard him use. It was deeper, as was his gaze somehow, and Merlin was not sure if he fully trusted him when he offered with a casualness that sounded false to even Merlin’s untrained ears, “It would appear you are having difficulty with your laces without her aid; perhaps I can be of assistance?”

“S-sire?” Merlin stuttered, trying to cover his disbelief by blinking rapidly. He realized belatedly that it likely seemed as though he was fluttering his lashes at the king. A king that looked all too pleased with himself as he advanced further into the room, not at all trying to hide his interest in Merlin’s less than fully properly attired form. “I would hate to bother someone so important with such a trivial task,” he managed, proud of himself for thinking up that much.

He turned his back to the king in hopes of keeping up the demure act while he frantically looked around for something heavy enough to levitate and use to knock the other man out without screams of assassination attempts ringing through the castle come morning.

Hands were on him then, leather gloves that were warm against his skin, but not nearly as warm as the breath that ghosted across his neck when an all-too-close Uther insisted, “Trust me, it is no trouble at all.”

Leather was not the only thing he felt. There was the brush of fine linen against his exposed skin, the heat and mass of another body behind him, and the gentle tug and release of a corset being loosened strand by strand.

Merlin held the front to him, even when a cool breeze trickled down his spine. Calloused fingertips traced every bump and ridge and he looked to the side to see the gloves haphazardly discarded on the small dressing table. “This is not proper,” he managed, resisting the urge to bite his lip or sacrifice his little tin of powder against the king’s temple.

“No, it truly is not,” Uther agreed, not sounding like he minded in the least. The touch stilled though, the edge of fingernails briefly scraping along Merlin’s skin as he watched Uther make a fist in the mirror behind him. The fist became splayed fingers, shaking out at his side as the king closed his eyes and asked, “Are you willing?”

Merlin furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the words. “Willing, sire?” he gulped in clarification.

The fist was back, but whether it was a fight for self control or a sign of anger Merlin had no idea. “I could simply have you, as is my right,” Uther explained, his voice barely above a growl and eyes now opened to mere slits. “You are here, a gift before me, but I will have it known that I have asked: are you willing?”

Everything fell into place then. Merlin had heard stories of nobility taking what they wanted of servants, and either leaving behind the broken pieces or breaking them themselves as was their whim. It was supposedly a rarity in Camelot, but there were enough rumours to be wary. Uther could have him, any way he wanted, or punish him for refusing. They rarely put a woman in the stocks, but he had seen a chambermaid flogged – they said her crime was stealing, but she claimed she had refused to bed a Lord and made a scene about it, later serving that same Lord, injuries and all, and later still being transferred to his home while her belly was rounded with child.

Any injuries suffered in this form would remain when he changed back to himself. This he knew from an unfortunate incident involving a stubbed toe while learning to walk in the silly little things Morgana insisted were shoes. Floggings took time to heal from, and left obvious marks. Arthur would notice the lash marks and, Uther, bright man that he was, would put two and two together to equal one gender shifting warlock on a pier.

Merlin swallowed heavily and, in the lightest tone he could muster, replied, “How may I serve you, sire?”

He watched Uther’s anger smooth to pleasure in the reflection of the glass, turned around to see it for himself and very pointedly lowered his arms, the corset sliding slowly down his body like a shield fallen in battle.

Uther’s hands were on him then, gripping and rubbing anything and everything he could get a hold of. Merlin’s nipples were sensitive beneath his thumbs, but not nearly as sensitive as the tender skin of his inner thighs when Uther ever so carefully rolled down the delicate stockings he wore. Merlin did not think anyone had ever touched him there before, not like this, so softly yet so wantonly, and he trembled from the contact.

Uther knelt before him now, fully clothed though the last remnants of Merlin’s own clothing were strewn about the floor and table. His hands pressed Merlin’s thighs that much further apart before his fingers brushed through wiry hair to settle against his sex. Though Merlin had touched himself there while in this form, it felt so foreign to have another do so, the shape and pressure and unpredictability of it all making him jump slightly in surprise.

Uther steadied him, and then looked up at him questioningly. “Have you ever?” he asked, still not moving his hand.

Merlin shook his head and it was the honest truth. He had fooled around before, given himself pleasure while in both male and female forms, and had given others pleasure as well while in his natural form, but he could honestly state that he had never experienced such a thing as now, with a king on his knees ready to do things to him that should never have been possible save for the power of magic and Merlin’s own innate curiosity.

That did not seem to deter Uther though. He breathed out slowly, then rested his forehead against Merlin’s abdomen, lips tickling the bony jut where hip stretched out into thigh as he whispered, “Then this is quite the gift indeed.”

The fingers pressed inward and upward and Merlin wished he could say he was surprised to find himself wet, but knew he had been from the moment the last stocking had been removed, wondering what it would be like, wondering if it would be pleasure or pain he would feel, and how it would compare to his own admittedly clumsy prior attempts get himself off.

Something that was most definitely pleasure rolled over him and settled in the pit of his stomach, burning brightly outward until even his toes felt like they were tingling with something far more than anticipation, and he had to admit that Uther was very good at what he was doing.

The king stroked and rubbed and Merlin reached out to brace himself, hand curling around a muscled shoulder, nails catching on the linen as his grip shifted with his balance. Uther must have taken that as encouragement as his touch became even more certain, fingers pressing deeper before pulling out to circle the little protrusion that was determined to make Merlin writhe and moan.

He felt his thighs tense, his entire body draw up tight as if bound in the corset once more, but there were no sharp lines or constraining ties, only tension and warm vibration that seemed to course along his veins and settle into his very soul. When Uther whispered, “Let it go,” he did, and swore he felt a warmth and light that challenged his very magic wash over every inch of his being, leaving him a weak-kneed, shivering, boneless wreck relying solely on his grip on the king to stay upright.

He forced his eyes open, wondered when he even closed them, and watched a very pleased looking Uther lick his fingers clean. “The next part is easier when you are more relaxed, especially for the first time,” Uther explained as he stood, arm reaching out to wrap around Merlin’s waist to both brace him and pull him close.

Merlin did not have the state of mind to ask what he could mean by “the next part,” but let himself be led to the bed instead, positioned atop the coverlet with a head of curls pillowed in softness and his legs spread wide enough to feel the coolness of the room chill his core.

Not that he was to be left like that for long, as Uther stripped with an efficiency that rivalled Arthur after training in full armour in the heat of summer. Merlin watched him lazily, struggling to keep his eyes open in the lethargy that had taken him. Only one part of him felt like it was still awake and alive, and it pulsed with in time with the beat of his heart, warm and open and sensitive. He gave in to temptation and brought his hand down to cup his sex, surprised at the sheer amount of moisture he found there as he had never been able to produce that much when he had attempted to do such things to himself. Then again, he had never quite reached the same peak as Uther had just brought him to, so there was that.

Speaking of Uther, the king had now climbed atop the mattress beside him, erection straining red and bold from its nest of grey-brown curls. He watched in avid interest as Merlin ran a finger through his own moisture, startling himself when he accidentally brushed against the responsive nub.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Uther smiled. He covered Merlin’s hand with his own, stroked enough to have him shiver again and groan softly at the sensations that burned through him. Uther shifted his grip and pressed Merlin’s finger deep inside the warm and wet tunnel, only to join it with one of his own moments later.

Merlin’s suspicions that something far more than fingers were about to enter him were confirmed when Uther removed their hands and used the gathered moisture to coat himself, Merlin’s juices mingling with the beads of his own impatience. “This may be uncomfortable for a moment, but I assure you it will be worth the while,” Uther warned as he aligned himself with Merlin’s opening.

Merlin did not know what to say to that, did not think he could say anything really. There was no way he would stop the king now, and he was not even certain he wanted to. Instead, he braced himself for the intrusion, finding he was still far too relaxed to truly tense up, just as Uther had promised. There was pain, but it was fleeting. More than anything, there was an overwhelming feeling of fullness, of being stretched and pushed until he did not think he could take anymore. Then Uther pulled back ever so slightly, and pushed in even deeper.

Finally, when Merlin felt fuller than he had ever felt in his life, Uther paused above him and gave him a moment to adjust. The king looked as though it was taking quite a bit of self control though, if the beads of sweat breaking out across his brow were anything to go by. Uther braced himself with one hand and used the other to cup and fondle Merlin’s breasts, fuelling a spike of pleasure that seemed to surprise them both.

Uther loomed above him, still not moving beyond the slightest twitch of his hips, and asked, “May I?”

Merlin nodded, wanting him to shift, to slide, to move, to do something to break the tension that was growing within him once more. “Yes, please,” he begged when it did not seem like the motion was enough.

Uther did not move though, not in the way Merlin expected. There was no pull or push or pounding into him. Instead, there was the barest touch of lips against his own, the caress of a tongue seeking entrance that Merlin was too surprised to refuse. He tasted the faintest hint of what he assumed was himself mixed with the remnants of wine and pheasant and something dark and spicy and unidentifiable.

He was bold enough to chase after that taste, to try to figure out if it was some treat from the kitchens or something uniquely Uther. They had crossed so many lines so far, and he had let Uther take so much from him already, that it was only fair that he be granted this balm to his curiosity.

Uther dragged himself away though, sudden and rough, breath coming in ragged gasps as he finally pulled back, sliding nearly out of Merlin and threatening to leave him empty and bare before he snapped his hips forward again, filling and stretching once more. He set a gruelling pace, fast and hard and oh so right, knowing neither of them could tolerate anything less.

There was a hand on Merlin’s breast, and lips on the soft spot just behind his ear. He heard Uther whisper, “So good,” over and over again, a mantra in time with the thrust of his cock within. The hand drifted lower, thumb pressing against the little nub and gifting Merlin with a jolt of pleasure that sent him spiralling over the edge, vision whiting out, body as warm and pliant as the liquid he swore he could feel filling it as Uther finally spilled his release, face now buried in the crook of Merlin’s neck, and gasped sobs of words that were unintelligible as they were swallowed by Merlin’s skin and curls.

Just as Merlin was coming back to himself enough to notice the weight of the man above him was beginning to grow uncomfortable, Uther carefully slid free his now soft cock and rolled to the side to give them both room to breathe. They lay there like that for a moment, side by side on embroidered satin, the pattern of which Merlin was fairly certain was now burned into his skin, letting the air from the room cool the sweat from their bodies.

All too soon though, Uther sat up. He tugged a blanket from the foot of the bed and tucked it carefully around Merlin’s shoulders, just before the cool turned to cold and the relief turned to discomfort. He leaned on his side, unashamed of his own nudity, and idly wrapped a long strand of dark hair around his finger before releasing it and laying it gently with the others. “Lady Alexandra is to be here for another fortnight, if not more,” he commented casually. “I would greatly appreciate the pleasure of your company again during that time, if you do not object.”

His hand slid under the blanket and unerringly found Merlin’s most sensitive places, making him openly gasp and maybe even spread his legs a little bit wider as he replied, “I believe that can be arranged.”

Uther chuckled and lowered his head for another lingering kiss. He pulled back and Merlin took in the sight of a man sated and tranquil and not at all looking like the evil authoritarian feared by countless magicians around the land. Merlin thought about that, about how a man who claimed to hate his very kind had knelt before him, doted on him, and granted him pleasure while seeking his own.

Uther mouthed Merlin’s jaw line, lips stained with powder and paint and fingers dancing along skin humming with magic, and murmured, “I do so love these little gifts.”

Merlin cupped the back of the king’s head, held him exactly where he wanted him, and was forced to agree.


End file.
